It's Good to Talk
by otherhawk
Summary: Even the most unconventional people have a few ingrained compulsions. But is it always so bad to be a creature of habit?


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with O11. I _do _own a phone. **

* * *

1996

* * *

It was possible things had got slightly out of hand.

He could tell by the way he was running away from a selection of men who wanted to hurt him.

Oh, this was a lousy way of spending a Saturday.

He dodged down a narrow alley and slid over the hood of a car, ducking back down the street and weaving through the crowds, grinning with charming apology at the startled people. "Sorry...sorry, coming through."

Somewhere behind him, they were still shouting.

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

Right. Time to run and keep running.

He was heading towards the stairs down to the shorefront when he heard his phone ringing.

Huh. Time and a place?

He grabbed it and flicked the button automatically. "Yeah?"

"Do you remember the combination for the Whitten safe?" Danny asked quickly. "And the way through the basement?"

"Not a good time," he said, shaking his head and hurdling over a mysterious pile of crates.

"What's going on?" Danny asked after a second.

"I might have taken Damian's pocket watch with three Queens," he explained, grinning.

"Uh huh," Danny sounded resigned.

"And called him a soulless Jack-in-the-box," he added pensively, glancing over his shoulder. He was still ahead by some way. That was something. He frowned. "So what – "

" – the investigation was wrapped up early," Danny said grimly. "We don't get the papers _now, _Phil's going to prison."

Right. Well, that made this the right time and the right place. "You got a pen handy?" he asked, as he charged down the stairs.

"Go for it," Danny told him.

"Down the stairs, left and then second right and straight along until the passage curves left. Then down the right hand corridor and through the third door." He risked another glance over his shoulder and fuck, they were right at the top of the stairs now. "Safe combination is..." He tried to leap the last few stairs and landed awkwardly, falling to the ground. "...Ah!"

Couple of breaths and he just lay there while Danny's voice grew frantic. "Rusty? Rus'!"

"'m okay," he said reassuringly, stumbling to his feet and starting to run again. "Safe combination is 362415."

"Got it," Danny said tersely.

There! A boat and he could see them casting ropes off and they were already pulling away from the dock and he flung himself headlong at the boat, and eager hands pulled him on board.

"See you tonight," Rusty said cheerfully into the phone and he hung up before smiling at the boatmen. "Hi. Can you give me a lift?"

* * *

1999

* * *

Julie was very beautiful and Robin had a smile that could launch a thousand ships and they were both very charming and very funny and very much in love with each other.

It was the last point that had made the proposition...surprising.

It was the rest that made it intriguing.

Certainly intriguing enough for him to go to dinner and swap stories of travel and excitement and people and danger.

They weren't looking to spice up their sex life, they just liked adventure.

He was adventurous.

And, over coffee and hot chocolate, and little flaky pralines, as the candlelight was reflected in Julie's eyes, and Robin was smiling at him over his cup, he'd just about made up his mind.

He leaned forwards, meeting their eyes across the table in intimate suggestion, and he'd rarely been more disappointed to hear his phone start to ring.

"Excuse me," he said, with genuine apology, and he did his best to ignore the disappointment on Julie's face as he walked away from the table to take the call.

"Rusty?" Saul's voice. "Sorry to disturb your evening."

"It's fine," he said, because it always was. "What's up?"

"Bobby's guy fell through," Saul explained with a sigh. "We need another pair of hands here yesterday."

"Can't get there yesterday," he said with a grin. "Would tonight do?"

"Thanks," Saul said quietly.

"Of course," he said, hanging up.

He went back to the table and made his apologies and regrets and agreed lightly when Robin suggested that the _next _time, he should just put his phone on silent.

* * *

2002

* * *

The plan was simple and elegant and they'd laid it out neatly, two steps at a time, making sure that everyone was caught up in the vision. They'd moved past the immediate wonder and speculation and now they were in the midst of getting bogged down in the small matter of what was and was not physically probable.

Linus was frowning. "I mean if we're going to pass the club off to Tremayne, how're we going to stop him noticing that Fallon is two people?"

"He won't notice," Rusty said with absolute confidence.

"And Fallon needs to be at least three people," Danny added with a smile.

There was a significant pause and everyone was leaning forwards, hanging on their every word.

Into the silence, Rusty's phone played a cheerful little tune.

He blinked and turned away, answering it with a grin.

Danny looked at him in exasperation for less time than _anyone _would notice. Then he carried on talking like nothing had happened.

"There's no chance that Tremayne won't spot the wire, so Fallon is going to need to play the mysterious informer," Danny began.

"Hi, Tess," Rusty said into his phone.

Danny stared at him.

So did everyone else.

"Tess is phoning – " Virgil began slowly.

" – shush," Turk interrupted sharply, elbowing his brother sharply in the ribs.

Danny surreptitiously drew his phone out of his pocket and checked it. Yep. It was working and it was switched on and Tess had called Rusty.

"Right. Okay. You need to soften the butter, not melt it. And add the sugar while it's still on the heat."

Yen grinned and made a comment that was probably untranslatable and certainly unrepeatable.

"Uh huh...and add the chocolate chips at the last moment," Rusty added. "You don't want them to get too melty."

"Am I on Punk'd right now?" Frank asked Reuben in an undertone.

"Okay, I'll tell him," Rusty nodded. "See you in a few weeks, Tess. Good luck." He hung up the phone and turned round and explained to Linus "We're thinking something like Darkman."

"For baking...?" Linus asked uncertainly.

"For Fallon," Danny cut in. "And it's going to be dark at night."

"Mostly at night," Rusty agreed.

"Oh."

The conversation span back into the impossibilities of the job.

"Tess says she loves you and you should be careful," Rusty murmured to Danny at a convenient moment.

"Uh huh." Danny looked at him. "She called you for baking tips?"

"Your neighbours are coming over," Rusty said. "Apparently home cooking is important."

"More important than Tremayne?" Danny asked, his eyebrows raised.

Rusty grinned. "You want to tell Tess it's not?"

Danny didn't stop to consider. "Ah. Fair point."

* * *

2005

* * *

There was something very retro about seeking out information in a library. But the internet had let him down and the hall of records had let him down and he was down to searching through mountains of old, local papers.

Yellowed paper and faded ink.

He'd been at it since the library opened. Eleven hours. He was beginning to think wistfully of all the other ways there were to earn a living.

Just as he was reaching for the next stack of papers, his cell phone rang.

Isabel.

He glanced at the sign on the wall, threatening dire consequences to anyone who dared open their mouths, he answered it. "Hi. What's up?"

"Nothing much," she answered, sighing. "I just had an awful day and wanted to hear your voice."

"Well, here I am," he said, a smile in his voice. "So what happened?"

"Oh, just all the little things," she said, sounding tired. "I slept in and I was late for the bank and the guy wouldn't see me and I couldn't get another appointment for three weeks. And I was in such a rush leaving the apartment that I forgot my umbrella. I got soaked, and then I had to go and meet Rosalind and her fiancé with my hair a complete state, and the pasta was overcooked and the waiter blew us off when we complained and I couldn't get a cab back so I got soaked _again._"

"Wow." He blinked. "Not a good day."

"No," she agreed.

"What's Rosalind's guy like?" he wondered.

"He's a moron," she said dismissively. "It won't last."

Huh. He smiled. "You need to relax. Get some wine, some chocolate. Take a hot bath."

A librarian walked around the corner, and stood, tapping her finger against the poster and glaring at him.

"Way ahead of you," she told him with a ripple of laughter. "I'm lying here on our bed, glass of wine in my hand...wearing the underwear you like. The dark red ones with the little black flowers."

Mmm. Isabel after a hard day. "You're wearing sweat pants and your Motley Crue t-shirt right now, aren't you? And you're drinking a beer."

The librarian cleared her throat pointedly.

"Oh, you can be too perceptive," Isabel said, exasperation obvious.

"Sexy as hell," he murmured, and he meant it.

"Really," she retorted.

"Yes," he said simply.

There was a pause. "...really?"

"Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the librarian told him, with the thinnest veneer of politeness.

"What's going on?" Isabel wanted to know.

"You're getting me thrown out of a library," he told her.

"You rebel you," she said, obviously grinning.

"I'll be home in half an hour," he said, flashing a quick and apologetic look towards the librarian. "Then we'll have all night for me to demonstrate just how sexy you are."

The librarian followed him grimly to the exit and made sure he left.

Ah, well. It would be closing in an hour anyway.

There was always tomorrow.

* * *

2007

* * *

Bailey Finch was a deeply paranoid man and Rusty had spent three weeks getting him to the point where he was willing to hand over his money to a complete stranger.

Bailey had made it absolutely clear; he'd be waiting in the bar with his briefcase of money at precisely noon. And he had no intention of waiting.

That was okay; Rusty had no intention of being late.

He checked his fake goatee in the window for the third time. He was looking fine, and just a little like a blond Poirot. Should work out just fine.

As he pushed the door open, he heard his phone ringing.

Damn.

He took a quick glance. Huh. Linus.

If he took this call, chances were he'd miss meeting Bailey. And he couldn't see Bailey giving him a second chance.

But Linus was in the middle of a two month thing in Denver, and Rusty doubted that this was a social call.

He sighed; he could see Bailey sitting in the distant corner of the bar, the briefcase clutched tightly to his chest.

He turned and walked in the opposite direction, the phone at his ear.

"How's it going, Linus?"

* * *

2011

* * *

The thing with the bronzes had been over a lot sooner than he'd been expecting, and he found himself back home three days before he'd planned. And normally, that wouldn't be so bad, but Isabel was away right now too.

She'd been asked to do some consulting with the FBI. Couple of lectures to new recruits. She'd been delighted, and it sounded like she was having a lot of fun.

And that was good, and he was pleased for her, but somewhere along the line, he'd got used to the domestic thing. Not spending his downtime alone. In short, he missed her.

Danny was planning on coming out to visit at the end of the week. Maybe he'd be able to fly out a little earlier.

Seemed like a good idea, and he was digging through his pockets for his phone as he walked into his apartment and dropped his bag by the door.

Probably one of the reasons why the burglar came as such a shock.

The guy was standing in the middle of his living room, holding a cardboard box full of DVDs, and he couldn't help but notice that right on the top was the third Bourne movie. Fuck, he hadn't even got round to watching that yet.

"Drop the box and get out of here," he said, his eyes fixed on the guy's face.

The guy looked at him, fear and shock written all over his face and an instant later the cardboard box was coming straight at his head, and Rusty swore and ducked and his cell phone went flying across the room.

With a scream of pure panic, the guy leapt at him and Rusty did his best to fight him off, shove him away, but then there was a crack of searing cold pain, and for a moment he couldn't think of anything else, and then something came down hard against his head in a clash of agony.

He was lying on the floor. He didn't know how or why, but it didn't feel like he was going to be able to get up any time soon.

His hand was pressed against his side, and he could feel the warm blood bubbling between his fingers.

Somewhere around him he could hear the burglar swearing and throwing things around, going through everything in the apartment.

He couldn't do anything to stop him. Couldn't even do anything to help himself.

And Isabel wasn't due home for a week, and Danny wasn't expecting to see him for a few more days...

Fuck.

If he died here, trying to save his DVD collection, Danny was going to kill him. If Isabel didn't kill him first. Or Saul...fuck, way he figured it, they'd have to draw straws.

He heard the front door bang shut.

He was alone.

The next time he opened his eyes it was dark and he was still alive and Danny and Isabel were kneeling next to him, Danny applying pressure to the wound, Isabel holding his hand...or it might have been the other way round. He didn't mind one bit. Saul was standing off to one side, phoning an ambulance.

Couldn't have been that long. Really, really couldn't. He'd surely have bled to death.

"Wha'..." He swallowed. "How...?"

"You didn't answer your phone," Isabel said, her voice barely steady. "You always answer your phone."

Oh. His eyes slid over to Danny. "He took the Bourne movie," he complained.

"Don't worry," Danny said lightly. "As soon as you're tucked up safe in hospital, I'll – "

" – we'll – "Isabel interrupted.

" – _we'll _go and find him and see about getting it back," Danny finished.

Right. That was something he probably had to worry about another time.

But right at this moment, as Saul put a comforting hand on his shoulder, he was quite happy to just focus on how lucky he was.


End file.
